Assignment - Burma Girl by Edward S. Aarons

Author:Edward S. Aarons [Aarons, Edward S.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-04-15T07:00:00+00:00

Seven

They reached Nambum Ga at dawn. A thin mist covered the river, blotting out the eastern bank as the boat’s whistle shrieked a warning at the landing that slowly emerged from the pale white fog. At this hour, the air was cool. Durell heard the town before he saw it: the racket of a jeep motor, the raucous cries of hundreds of Burmese jungle cocks, the bleating of goats, the grunts and splash-ings of water buffalo in the shallow levels of the river bank.

Nambum Ga sprawled like a strange frontier town, pinched into the valley between towering, razor-back jungle ridges and deep green gorges. It had grown like a boom-town since the war, with three main streets and a few brick and concrete-block buildings of two of three stories in the center. But most of the houses were native bashas, built on stilts, with thatched roofs and upturned eaves. Several tin-roofed sheds adorned the river landing where the steamer tied up, and the pier itself groaned under the weight of those who watched the boat come in. In a twinkling, as the sun lifted over the eastern ridges, the river mist vanished and turned the valley into musty gold and green.

Durell pointed out the presence of a score of helmeted, khaki-uniformed and armed troops on the landing.

“Those are Ingkok’s men—local gendarmery, you might say,” Van Der Peet nodded. “No match for the Lahpet Hao, of course.” The Dutchman squinted at the hills. “The terrorists are up there, all around us. I can smell them.

You can bet they’ve got glasses on us right at this minute.” “Have you ever had any trouble with them?”

“Not until now. But I think this will be the first time.”

“Why?”

“Everything looks different. Look over there—the streets are empty. Even the Chinese soup shops are still closed. And that is unusual. It is also unusual for Ingkok’s men to be on the dock. And the faces of the people are not as carefree as usual. They are usually a happy bunch. But look at them now.”

It was true, as the Dutchman pointed out, that a blanket of tension lay over the town. The people on the pier were solemn and frightened, regarding the vessel with anxious eyes. Piles of household belongings, children, dogs, and tonga carts were beside each group, and Durell recognized the face of the refugee as seen everywhere in the world in times of terror.

More evidence of military preparations were visible when they tied up. Soldiers pushed the swarming people back at rifle point, and two machine guns gleamed on the roof of one of the nearby modem buildings. A mortar crew in a flat-bed truck went racketing up the dusty street. Flies, bullocks, dogs and chickens scattered impartially from the path of the military vehicles.

Two armed soldiers boarded the boat first and met Durell and the captain. Simon, Merri and Eva stood in the background.

“You will all please accompany us,” the first soldier said, in careful English. “Come this way, please.”

“Where?” Durell asked.

“All foreigners are ordered confined to the Circuit House until Boh Ingkok can interview them.

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